Poetry

It’s just an old abandoned farmhouse
On a weedy, grown up moor
I suspect that it has stood there
For a century or more
Its boards are firm but weathered
From it’s windows, shards of glass
Rusted tin upon the rooftop
Keeps its floor as dry as ash
How many has it sheltered
Through the years till its demise?
Children’s heights are duly noted
Notches cut and age inscribed
Dejectedly it stands there
Just affronted and ignored
After years of faithful service
Held in thoughtless disregard
It’s just an old abandoned farmhouse
On a weedy grown up moor
How faithfully it lingers there
How nobly it endures
While mighty winds may stroke its eaves
And its tin roof rust and stain
As maturity’s honored by hoary crown
Its dignity shall remain
ã C R Clark 7/26/2011